


This Ain't Seaworld

by cailures



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, forced to share a bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cailures/pseuds/cailures
Summary: Ray turned his head in the voice's direction and realized for the first time that he was somewhere way worse than the Bates motel.He was in rural Canada.





	This Ain't Seaworld

**Author's Note:**

> FOR #13

In the future, Ray was only going to fly. 

He had always thought he was a driving kind of guy. He loved cars and hated heights, it stood to reason that driving was the only way to travel. Preferably in something with slightly better gas mileage than his dad's GTO, with a top that came down. He had a lot of fantasies that involved aviator shades a la Top Gun, with loud music and cigarettes, gunning it down Route 66 to points north and unknown.

Fraser was quickly putting an end to that.

_I'm afraid Route 66 isn't a northbound highway, Ray. Convertibles aren't really practical for carrying the kind of supplies we'll need on this trip, Ray. I'm sorry, Ray, I'm not familiar with Top Gun. It's about pilots? Why would you wear a pilot's glasses to drive?_ Fucking dreamkiller.

But even besides the wreck of his dreams in favor of being Mountie practical, Ray wasn't super into the driving. Backwoodsy roads meant glasses on, however Ray may or may not have felt about the looks of the thing, which was never a plus. But even worse than that: driving a G.D passenger van, of the sort used to haul around little league teams, was _not sexy._ It made him feel like a youth pastor. A very blind, very dorky-looking youth pastor.

A very blind, very dorky-looking youth pastor who had to contend with Fraser on top of everything else.

"Ray," Fraser said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Ray did not wait for the rest of the sentence. "What?" he asked. "What, did I pass someone without signaling, Fraser? Make an extralegal right on red? Fail to yield to a moose? What, exactly, have I done wrong this time in that law-abiding brain of yours?" He gestured at the windshield and the endless blackness and snow in front of them. More importantly, he was gesturing at the lack of literally anyone who _fucking cared_ if Ray failed to yield to a moose.

Fraser took this the same way he took every Ray Kowalski outburst, which was to say calmly, as if there had been no outburst at all. "I was going to suggest we stop for the night so that you can sleep."

Ray started to turn his head to glower, then remembered that glowering would have to wait until they were pulled over if he wanted Fraser's end of the conversation to be anything other than repeating his name at a grating staccato like an alarm clock. "I'm fine," he said, instead facing the darkness, the snow, and the hypothetical moose.

"You've been drifting closer and closer to the left lane, Ray," Fraser said. "In the city, of course, I wouldn't criticize, but in this sort of area--"

"Oh, God, you're actually afraid there's gonna be moose and I won't yield," Ray said, jaw dropping in horror.

"I would have said a tree well before a moose," Fraser said. "Though I wouldn't like to encounter a moose, considering the kind of damage one moose can do to a vehicle, even a vehicle of this size."

For a moment, Ray could picture it: an animal that was way too big to really exist without being like a dinosaur rising out of the dark to shouldercheck the van, flipping it end over end while he and Fraser screamed and then rolled into a tree that caused the van to blow up, melting their bloody corpses and scattering hair products, epaulets, and a dozen Timbits as far as the eye could see.

Ray shook his head to clear it. When the daydreams started getting gruesome and involving pastries, it was time to give in. "Fine, okay, we'll stop. You see anywhere to stop?"

He didn't, but the next sign they passed said there was lodging at the next exit.

* * *

Ray probably should have been suspicious about the lack of any recognizable logos on that lodging sign.

"We better call it in," Ray said. "We found where Norman Bates went."

Fraser was apparently not a Hitchcock fan. "Whom?"

Ray considered the flaws and merits of trying to summarize a movie about a split personality transvestite to Fraser, and decided discretion was the better part of valor. "Never mind."

It did look like the Bates Motel, though. Ray counted out two long rows of six bungalow-style rooms connected under a single roof, quite possibly with peepholes between 'em. Even if the probably-not-a-serial-killer guy who ran the place didn't put any in, that didn't mean no enterprising teenage boy ever had. Probably not the Fraser-y sort of teenager, if that even existed, about which Ray had serious doubts, but the Ray kind was plentiful and couldn't have stayed in a place like this without making just a little, just a tiny bitty hole. 

Someday, he was going to have to see a shrink about why he got paranoid when he was sleepy.

Fraser was definitely thinking something along those lines. He looked at Ray with way too much concern, touched the back of his neck, and asked, "Are you all right, Ray?"

Against Ray's will, the skin on the back of his neck kinda halfway tingled and halfway shivered. Sleepy, paranoid, and cold- all very bad for his image. He shrugged just enough that Fraser's hand wasn't nudged off by his shoulder. "'M fine."

Fraser looked about as convinced as Ray felt convincing, but he let it drop.

Ray opened the door to the motel lobby, or at least what passed for a lobby in this kind of place, and felt surprised and relieved that it wasn't covered wall-to-wall in taxidermy birdies. Not that the existence of stuffed owls or whatever necessarily said "serial killer" as a rule, but Ray did have to admit that he inherently distrusted people who liked to keep preserved corpses around.

"Sorry, friends!" called a voice that was way too jolly for Ray's current frame of mind. "Didn't see ya! Nippy out there, is it?"

Ray turned his head in the voice's direction and realized for the first time that he was somewhere way worse than the Bates motel. 

He was in rural Canada.

The desk clerk- whose accent was somewhere between Bob McKenzie and a happy pirate, Ray couldn't have placed it for the world- looked as far from Norman Bates as possible, which was good. He bore a very strong resemblance to Paul Bunyan, though, which was less good. He also didn't seem to have a mouth. There must be one, Ray thought, because he had just spoken to them. But from what Ray could see, the actual speaker had been a sentient beard that had taken up residence on the desk clerk's face. When he talked, there were no visible lips or teeth or anything- just more beard. 

Fraser didn't seem to notice. "We're sorry to bother you at this late hour," he said, dialing up the Canada. "But my friend and I are in need of rooms."

"Eh, sorry, friend," said the beard. (Though the desk clerk's name tag identified him as Skip, Ray was thinking he might name him Captain Bushy.) "Can't do. I've only got one room to spare."

Fraser didn't even blink. "Ah. That should still suit." He took out his traveler's checks.

Ray didn't object to the sharing a room part- though it did put a crimp in any plans he might've had to watch dumb movies and jerk off later- but the idea that this entire place, _this place,_ was full to capacity strained believability to the breaking point. 

Ray could've said, _Huh. Is it hunting season already?_

He could've said, _You got some nice local ski slopes open during the day?_

He could even have said, _Curling tournament?_

What he actually said was, "What, you got a ten car pileup on another road somewhere?"

There was an awkward pause. Or at least, Ray thought it was an awkward pause. It might have just been the beard gathering the breath to speak.

"Please forgive my friend," Fraser said.

The beard...crinkled up in a way that sort of suggested a knowing smile, if a knowing smile could be made out of hair. Maybe. If you squinted. Or were Canadian. "Americans, eh?"

Fraser nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so."

"Well," the beard said, "sorry about the crowd anyway." He offered them a key. "That'll be yours. Next to my cousins. In for the fishing."

"Ah," Fraser said. "Of course."

By Fraser's "that clears things up" look, it must have been the right season for the annual talking beard convention.

"I'll show you the way, eh?" The beard dragged the body from behind the desk to go out the door. On his way towards it, he gave Ray a no-hard-feelings shoulder pat, a smile, and a wink. Then he went out the door. Ray made no move to follow him.

Fraser started to, but then seemed to notice that Ray was still fixed in one spot, and gave him a confused look, as though he had not just seen Ray be winked at by a man with a sentient beard. "Ray?"

Ray paused for a moment, trying to come up with something reasonable to say, but all that came out, in his most factual possible tone, was, "He's going to freeze us in maple syrup and then apologize until we die."

Fraser looked torn between confusion and laughter. "Let's get our bags."

* * *

"Uh, Fraser?" Ray said. "Buddy. Pal. Fraser." He had just made it in with the duffel bag he'd brought when he saw something that Fraser didn't feel the need to mention when he was carrying his bags at the speed of a meth freak robot. Something that outraged Ray's cheapskate instincts and also seemed to rock the pit of his stomach, for some reason, who knew what that was about.

"Fraser!"

Captain Bushy had time to wink at Ray, but he didn't have time to mention this?

"Fray-_zer!"_

Fraser stepped out of the bathroom, where- apparently in the _nine seconds_ since Ray got his duffel out of the van and trudged through the snow back to the room- he'd already stripped down to his long johns and started brushing his teeth. "What is it?" he asked.

"What is it?" Ray repeated, sputtering. "What is it?" He gestured wildly at the swindle in question. "There's only one bed, Fraser, that's what it is!"

"Ah." Fraser looked at the bed curiously, like someone had left them a surprise package. _Oh, how interesting. I wonder what it could be._

Ray should have known it was a lost cause expecting Fraser, the man who had lived in his office for the last year, to join him in righteous anger at the unacceptability of their living conditions, but he had hopes for Fraser at least being supportive about his very justified fury.

He didn't want to be angry at Fraser, though, he turned that rage on Skip the Talking Beard, who hadn't even had the decency to warn them that these were solo act rooms only. "I ought to clean that guy's clock! We paid for a two-guy room, he gives us the honeymoon suite!"

Fraser frowned. "Wouldn't a honeymoon suite be a two-person room?"

Ray chose not to answer. "I want our money back."

"Ray," Fraser said, giving him a skeptical look.

Ray flung his duffel bag to the floor, rolled up his sleeves, and began to march for the door.

_"Ray,"_ Fraser said, a little more sternly this time. "Be reasonable."

"Reasonable?!"

"There's no reason," he continued, "that we can't share the bed."

Ray faltered a little. "Yeah, I know, but- it's not about that!"

"What, may I ask, is it about?" Fraser asked. 

"It's--" Ray stopped, trying to think of the word. "It's--"

Fraser raised his eyebrows, waiting with very obvious, very annoying patience.

"We could've got a better deal somewhere else, you know," Ray said. "Somewhere with two beds, at least, if not two freaking rooms."

Fraser's patience fell away in favor of deep skepticism. "We're in the territory of Nunavut, Ray. A territory with an area of over two million kilometers- eight hundred thousand miles- and a population density of two-tenths of a person per square kilometer, or half of a person per square mile."

"So that means--"

"It means that the likelihood we would find other accommodation prior to your losing consciousness and plowing our vehicle into a tree--"

"--or a moose," Ray muttered.

"--would be astronomical." Fraser looked at him with a clear _do you get my drift, useless American, or do I have to spell it out for you?_ kind of look. Well, that kind of look, but politer and more Frasery. "Now. Given what we've established with regard to the question if there are _any_ other lodgings available, do you think that the question of 'better' might also be settled?"

Ray glared. He glared because he had no argument he could actually make, and both he and Fraser knew it.

"And considering those factors, do you think it might be a little, shall we say, hasty for you to inflict violence on our innkeeper?"

There was a beat.

"Fine," Ray said. "Fine. But if we end up married because of some Canadian law about who can share beds with who, I'm suing you for hegemony."

"I think you mean alimony."

"Whatever."

* * *

It was impossible to sleep.

Ray tried- he went through all the motions of getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth, getting undressed, turning the lights out, getting under the covers and everything. And he was pretty tired and pretty cold, it should've been easy as breathing. But the entire under-the-blankets area was warmed by Fraser's extra strength body heat. His breathing was so deep that when he inhaled, little tiny stabs of cold air creeped in under the covers when his chest rose. His hip was nudging Ray's hip. His little toe was just barely brushing Ray's little toe. And he smelled- good. Annoyingly good, like what the fuck, man? Are you competing to have the cleanest-smelling sweat now?

Ray was aware of literally everything about Fraser in a way that he hadn't been ever before and it was making it impossible to get any fucking rest around here.

Fraser didn't seem bothered. Not that anything ever bothered Fraser, but how was he so calm with another body so close? 

Ray wanted to explode at him, smack him, kick him in the head, or scream in his ear, _Hey! We're **in bed** together!_

He settled for saying, in the awkwardest possible way, "Sooo...."

Oh good, he thought. I'm starting a conversation.

Fraser opened his eyes and looked at him, polite as ever. "Yes?"

"You, uh, comfortable up here?" Ray asked, which was both pointless and stupid, since he clearly was. Damn it.

As if he could see that Ray was bothered and needed him to be bothered, Fraser made the old college try at complaining. "It- could be warmer." 

His heart clearly wasn't in it, but Ray was willing to seize the lifeline anyway. "Yeah! It's cold up here. Real cold. Damn cold."

Fraser frowned, then added, apologetically, "I'm afraid I meant your feet, Ray."

Ray snapped his mouth shut. He hadn't realized until this moment that he had any sensitivity about his feet, but he felt sort of defensive. Fraser the unflappable human furnace was looking down on mere mortal Ray Kowalski for the human failings of cold feet and a need for space? This could not be allowed to stand.

"Are you kidding me?" he said. "My feet aren't too cold. You're too warm."

"I didn't mean it as an insult, Ray," Fraser said. "It's likely just a simple genetic quirk of poor circulation. Many people have it."

"Your circulation is not better than mine," Ray said. 

It wasn't often he could surprise a _get real, Kowalski_ look out of Fraser, but there one was, clear as day. "I think we both know that's demonstrably untrue, Ray."

Ray frowned, suspicious. "That sounds like you mean a lot more than feet, Fraser."

"Oh, Ray--"

"What are you saying?" 

Fraser sighed and admitted, looking regretful, "Well, you are somewhat less efficient at pursuing suspects on foot, Ray."

Ray stared. "Are you saying I'm slow?" 

"Not at all," Fraser said, then that Fraserian honesty kicked in and he was, Ray guessed, _forced_ by a lifetime of goodness to add, "But you do get winded sooner."

"That's." Ray couldn't think of a thing it was. "The hell, man?"

Fraser looked at Ray like he was an alien whose ways he didn't quite understand. "May I ask why you're trying to pick a fight?"

His jaw dropped. "Are you channeling my ex-wife right now?" 

Fraser kept his reasonable, conversational tone. "Did you often try to pick fights with her?"

Ray ignored the question. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Quite a bit, actually," Fraser said, surprised. "You clearly have some problems with the concept of intimacy--"

"Intimacy?!"

Fraser barreled on. "--and I think that you try to start arguments when you feel vulnerable."

"Vulnerable?!"

Getting louder was not scaring Fraser. "Yes, vulnerable. Sleeping leaves you helpless, Ray. When you sleep with another person, it forces you to trust them with your life and your physical safety."

"Hey," Ray said. "I am not saying I don't trust you with my life or my physical safety. I just like having a bed to myself. Why's it gotta mean more than that?"

"It doesn't have to," he said.

"Then why are you acting like it means something?" Ray wanted to know.

"Well," Fraser asked, "does it?"

Ray could feel his face twisting into a scowl, his fist clenching on its own, and his brain gearing up to do something stupid. He was almost a bystander in a body that was about to throw itself at a bad idea and wherever the chips fell, Ray only had to hope that it wasn't going to put them on the eleven o'clock news.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. You want me to prove it? I'll prove it." He sprawled on top of Fraser, chest to chest, face to face, boxers to long johns. 

As plans that your body just kinda made without you went, Ray supposed that pinning Fraser down and cuddling him was not the worst possible one.

Fraser, for the first thank-fucking-god time since Ray had ever known him, looked flustered. "Ah."

"This vulnerable and intimate enough for you, Fraser?" Ray asked. 

Ray should've tried this years ago. Fraser actually looked like he might stutter. "I- suppose it is."

"Great," he said. "Then we'll just sleep like this." Ray folded his arms across Fraser's chest to use as a pillow and did his best to make himself comfortable. It wasn't as easy as, say, making yourself comfortable on a mattress and pillows would've been, but it wasn't really hard, either. Fraser was actually pretty comfy, all things considered.

Fraser, on the other hand, seemed like he thought if he moved, the universe might crack in half.

On some level, Ray knew that a good friend and a good person would not give him shit for that. Ray himself had been awkward just a second ago, and he should be a nice guy about it. 

But Fraser had brought up feelings, and as far as Ray was concerned, that meant he had fired the first shot and Ray was now obligated to win.

"Boy," Ray said, louder than necessary, "it sure does feel great to be this vulnerable and intimate, doesn't it?" He gave an exaggerated yawn. "I'm so glad I can be this vulnerable and intimate with my buddy that I think I really will sleep here all night."

Fraser didn't seem to wanna crack, though. He wrapped his arms loosely around Ray's back, right about wrist-on-ass level, fingers woven together right on his spine. "Excellent. Goodnight, Ray."

Ray's back broke out into goosebumps. Oh, that was just-- "Goodnight, Fraser," he said, turning his face so it was against Fraser's neck, lips just touching his jugular. Ray felt Fraser's pulse start pounding against his lips.

Fraser unlaced his hands and put one on Ray's upper back, lightly massaging a circle into it, which felt stupidly nice, the bastard.

He had no choice. Fraser had eliminated all other options.

Ray lifted his head the slightest bit and kissed the lobe of Fraser's ear.

It should've been the breaking point, but Ray had miscalculated the amount of deviousness Fraser was willing to sink to. 

Fraser started kissing Ray's neck.

Fine. Okay. Fine. 

Ray lifted his head up and kissed Fraser on the mouth.

Fraser kissed him back.

Ray was grateful for the earlier toothbrushing. Fraser tasted minty and nice. He was also glad he'd used the same mint toothpaste instead of bringing his orange flavor from home. He didn't want to think about how bad that would've been.

How bad this wasn't, all things considered. 

Fraser was warm, solid, good-tasting, and was getting his hands up in Ray's hair, which had always been good for sending shivers down his back. That and a little bit of teeth in his lip, and it was really Fraser's fault that Ray was starting to get hard. He was dimly aware of the fact that that kind of meant Fraser was winning, but the only thing he could think to do to regain the upper hand might be something they had to take clothes off to do. Ray had already half-unbuttoned Fraser's long johns before he realized, _Oh. Oh, shit. This is gonna happen._

He realized at the same time, he was weirdly okay with that.

He pulled back from the kiss to look Fraser in the face and thought, Fraser's pretty okay with that, too.

...okay, Ray thought. That's- okay.

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Before, uh- before things go any further--"

"Ray?"

"...would you just check if there's a peephole?"

Fraser buried his face in Ray's neck, like he didn't want Ray to see him laugh. But, more importantly, like he liked it and wanted to be there. "Of course, Ray," he said. "Whatever you need."


End file.
